Chapter Text
Aziraphale lay on the sofa, the book he’d been trying to read discarded on the floor.
‘You look like shit,’ Crowley said, coming into the room and frowning at the angel.
Aziraphale gave a wry smile, squinting at Crowley through the pounding headache. ‘I imagine that I probably am not looking at my best,’ he agreed.
Crowley placed his hand against the angel’s forehead. ‘Well you’ve got a killer fever,’ he observed, ‘You’re burning up.’
Aziraphale grunted, shifting away from the demon’s cold hand, and trying to ignoring the flair of pain in his joints as he did so. ‘An astute observation,’ he muttered.
‘Yeah, well, the blanket won’t be helping.’
Aziraphale sighed inwardly. Crowley was right of course, but the fever was making him feel cold and shivery. His hands and feet were freezing and he what he really wanted was to burrow deeper into the blankets and try to sleep. Not that sleep seemed likely, but at least he could try.
‘Have you taken any medicine?’ Crowley asked, ‘Need to get that temperature down before you start hallucinating or something.’
Aziraphale didn’t entirely disagree, but moving at all seemed like too much effort. ‘I … er… took some paracetamol at…’ he shut his eyes, hoping that would lessen the pain in his head and make it easier to remember, ‘um…an hour or so before you telephoned I think’.
Crowley looked at the clock. ‘Well, you’re due more’.
Aziraphale kept medicines, plasters and bandages in a large vintage first aid tin. He had it mostly in case any customers should require his ministrations and Crowley was pleased to see that it was reasonably well stocked, even if it did contain a few rather suspect vintage ‘tonics’ and a large bottle of iodine alongside the more conventional treatments. He found a packet of paracetamol, filled a glass with water and brought them back to Aziraphale.
‘Thank you Crowley,’ said Aziraphale humbly. He swallowed the pills with a noticeable wince.
‘Sore throat too?’ Crowley asked sympathetically, taking the glass carefully out of Aziraphale’s hand and noting the heat radiating off him. ‘Damn you’re hot’.
An amused look briefly darted across Aziraphale’s flushed face.
‘You know what I meant,’ Crowley said with a stern look, but pleased that in spite of the raging temperature Aziraphale was sufficiently with it to spot the unintended compliment. He refilled the glass and put it within easy reach of the angel. ‘Is there anything else you need?’
Aziraphale smiled gratefully at him. ‘No thank you, I’m fine’. He wriggled back into the cushions, trying to find a position that felt right.
‘You might be more comfortable in an actual bed’. Crowley suggested. ‘You do own one after all. Might as well get some use out of it.’
‘I’m fine here’.
Crowley raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested he disagreed, but he knew better to insist. ‘Would you like me to leave and just let you rest?’ He asked.
In spite of Crowley’s kindness, part of Aziraphale wanted to say yes, and just be left to be ill in private, but he could hear the rain pounding against the windows and it seemed mean to send Crowley out into the storm. He shook his head and instantly regretted it as the throbbing intensified. ‘No, stay here. It sounds truly horrible out. I’m afraid I won’t be very good company though.’
‘I wasn’t expecting entertainment,’ Crowley countered. He looked idly round. ‘I’m sure I can find a book to read or something.’
Aziraphale smiled slightly at the attempt at humour. ‘I do have quite a few!’ He agreed. ‘But you absolutely mustn’t buy any!’
‘Remind me to explain to you how shops work,’ Crowley muttered, skulking off to look at the books.
He hadn’t intended to come over at all, but there had been something about the slight croakiness of Aziraphale’s voice on the phone that made him feel he should. He knew Aziraphale had been busy with more healings than were wise, and he’d learned from prior experience what happened when Aziraphale used too much healing power in a short space of time. Everything would be fine, right up until the point when the angel had totally exhausted himself and then whatever germ he was busy eradicating would ambush him and make itself at home until he’d regained enough energy to fight it off. Judging by the appearance of Aziraphale now, he didn’t yet have the energy to fight off a kitten. The angel had shut his eyes, but Crowley knew he wasn’t asleep. His face was pink with the dry glow of a not-yet-broken fever, and his breathing was quick and uneven. Not uneven enough to be worrying (especially given he didn’t actually need to breath at all), but enough to show he was uncomfortable.
Crowley fervently wished that demons were as good as angels at healings. But they weren’t and it was not something Crowley was prepared to risk except in dire circumstances. Fixing straightforward injuries was easy enough, actual illness was more complex, especially with the interplay of true form and corporation to deal with. Still, he wished he could make Aziraphale feel more comfortable.
‘Found a book?’ Aziraphale asked softly, his eyes still shut. ‘I can give you some recommendations if you would like?’
‘Still choosing,’ Crowley called back. ‘Bit spoilt for choice here!’
That was an understatement. Aziraphale had a wide range of books on absolutely every subject. Had Crowley suddenly developed an interest in anything from the Beaker people to the volcanoes of Venus he could have found something of relevance. He ran his thumb idly down the spine of a book of Victorian murder mysteries, admiring the gold embossed writing that glinted smartly against the faded red linen cover.
‘There are some biscuits in a tin on the table,’ Aziraphale said after a moment of thought. ‘Do help yourself if you would like them.’
‘Stop worrying about me!’ retorted Crowley in tones of minor irritation. ‘You sleep and get better’.
‘I don’t usually sleep,’ Aziraphale pointed out, although in actual fact there was nothing he would rather do at the moment, just as soon as the paracetamol kicked in to make it possible.
‘Well try!’ said Crowley said firmly. ‘When you’re not well, you need to rest’. He chose a book, and found a chair far enough away from Aziraphale not to disturb him, but close enough to keep an eye on him and settled down to read. Well, try to read. It was extremely hard to focus on the book when he could see the angel huddled up on the sofa. What Crowley really wanted to do was to go and cuddle up with him, gently massage his sore muscles and stroke his hair until he fell asleep, but there was no way he was going to suggest that to the angel. The next best thing (albeit a very poor second) was to sit near enough to get him anything if he needed it.
Eventually, Crowley judged from Aziraphale’s breathing that he had fallen asleep. Only then did he pick up the book, miracle himself a glass of wine, and settle back in the chair to reacquaint himself with some of the lesser known cases of Sherlock Holmes. The sound of the rain pouring from a broken gutter across the street and thunder rumbling in the distance added to the atmosphere.
Several hours had passed before Aziraphale woke up with a sudden jolt and tried to fling off the blanket. He was hot, and sweaty, breathing hurt and for a moment had no idea where he was.
‘Hey,’ said Crowley soothingly, ‘s’ok, you’re on the sofa in your bookshop. You’re ill.’
‘What time is it?’ Aziraphale asked, disorientated.
‘bout nine I think,’ Crowley, looking at his book. ‘I was about to head off home, shout at some plants.’
Aziraphale rubbed his eyes and grimaced. Even his own breath felt uncomfortably hot as he exhaled and his chest felt tickly and tight.
A sudden crack of thunder almost overhead made them both jump.
‘Crowley,’ he protested, ‘You cannot go home in this weather! I absolutely will not allow it. You can sleep on the other sofa. There’s a quilt in the corner by the chair.’
Crowley, who hadn’t really wanted to leave in any case, allowed himself to be persuaded reasoning that giving in to temptation was a demonic virtue.
‘Do you want me to help you up to your room?’ he asked. ‘You might sleep better in bed.’
Aziraphale gave an awkward grimace. ‘Would you mind very much if I stayed down here too? I’m not sure I can face moving.’
‘It’s your bookshop!’ Crowley pointed out. ‘I think you are entitled to sleep wherever you like in it!’
‘Well yes,’ said Aziraphale with a tired smile, ‘but if it would make you uncomfortable for us both to sleep down here…’
‘You’re being ridiculous!’ Crowley said gently. Privately he was thinking that there was nothing he’d like better than sleeping in the same room as Aziraphale, preferably in the same bed, and not necessarily spending that much time sleeping.
‘Thank you,’ said Aziraphale, ‘but just so long as you really are sure.’ He, lay back down and pulled the blanket back over him, suddenly feeling cold and shivery again. His muscles hurt and his stomach was feeling increasingly achy and tender.
Crowley slowly stripped down to his T shirt and boxers, found the quilt and spread it across Aziraphale’s other sofa. The bookshop wasn’t cold, but sitting still reading for hours meant that he had just reached the point when getting under covers and continuing his book there was an appealing thought. He must have been more tired than he realised though, because before Holmes had had time to pronounce ‘elementary my dear!’ he too had fallen asleep.
Crowley was woken by the sound of Aziraphale shifting uncomfortably.
‘Sorry,’ said Aziraphale quickly when he saw the demon open his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘S’ok’ Crowley said sleepily. He propped himself up on one elbow. It was still night, but the curtains weren’t quite closed and the bright London street lighting filtered into the room. ‘You alright?’
Aziraphale nodded. ‘Just uncomfortable.’
‘Head?’ Crowley asked, too sleepy to formulate a full sentence.
‘Tummy mostly,’ Aziraphale said, suppressing a groan.
‘You gonna be sick?’ Crowley asked, sitting up quickly.
Aziraphale shook his head. ‘Mercifully not. Just rather bad pains.’ He sat up carefully. ‘You go back to sleep Crowley, I’m fine. I’m going to go up to my bedroom and try to sleep up there so that I won’t disturb you.’
He stood up slowly, stomach and head protesting in equal measure, and put a hand out to steady himself, hoping Crowley hadn’t noticed the wobble. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, ‘Do you need anything dear boy? A pillow perhaps? Those cushions are rather hard. I should have offered you one before.’
Crowley shook his head, feeling at once guilty and appreciative that even when sick, Aziraphale was concerned about him. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’m very comfy!’
Aziraphale nodded, ‘Good, well if you’re sure…’.
He made his way slowly upstairs and pushed open his bedroom door and padded over to the bed he didn’t often use. Peeling back the covers, he sank down onto the mattress. It was more comfortable than the sofa, but the sheets were cold and felt rough to his feverish skin. Moving had reactivated his headache and closing his eyes made the room spin horribly. He lay staring at the dark ceiling, trying to ignore the pains in his stomach that came in waves. He felt miserable and fragile, longing for sleep, but too uncomfortable to drift off. The storm was still raging outside, and the wind rattling the windows angrily. Aziraphale rolled over carefully, curled up and groaned as the aching increased. Maybe if he lay as still as possible, it wouldn’t hurt so much. He buried his face in his pillow and tried to feel better by a concerted effort of will. It did not work.
There was gentle tap at the door. At first, Aziraphale thought it was the wind at the window, but it came again, soft, yet insistent.
He propped himself up cautiously on one elbow, taking care not to move too fast.
‘Crowley?’
‘Angel, can I come in?’
‘You may, of course.’
The door opened and Crowley entered, slightly awkwardly, carrying a hot water bottle and a steaming mug. ‘I thought this might help,’ he said apologetically and with a fierce glare that said don’t you dare say I’m kind.
‘Oh thank you dear boy!’ said Aziraphale, almost overcome by the unexpected gesture. ‘That is extremely …’ he nearly said kind, but corrected himself just in time, changing the emphasis, ‘welcome.’
‘Yeah, well…’ said Crowley vaguely, swallowing a yawn as he put the mug on the table and handed Aziraphale the hot water bottle.
The angel took it gratefully, hugging it tight and letting the warmth sooth the fierce cramps.
‘Peppermint,’ said Crowley, nodding towards the mug ‘with honey’.
The smell spread enticingly through the room, both sweet and vaguely medicinal. Aziraphale smiled, ‘It smells wonderful.’
Crowley placed his hand gently against Aziraphale’s forehead, and held it there for slightly longer than was strictly necessary, ‘You’re still too warm,’ he concluded, ‘but maybe not burning up quite so fiercely. How’s the headache?’
‘A little better I think,’ said Aziraphale. It was still painful, but he could at least look at Crowley without squinting.
‘And the stomach ache?’
Aziraphale gave a wry smile, ‘The hot water bottle helps,’ he said, evading the question.
‘Well don’t overheat,’ said Crowley tersely, wishing more than every he could envelop the angel in a hug. ‘You’re still running a fever. Do you need anything else?’
‘No thank you,’ said Aziraphale, fighting a sudden urge to cough and giving Crowley an appreciative smile. ‘I am so grateful for everything.' He reached out and touched Crowley gently on the wrist, 'Thank you.'